


a museum of broken hearts

by thebriars



Series: Hamiltrash Incorporated: The Drabble Collection [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lost Love, bc he's a dipshit but whatever, hes just sad, i promise he isn't a serial killer, inspired by a sad news article, lol I forgot to put any extra tags on, thats it i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 23:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12714558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebriars/pseuds/thebriars
Summary: Alexander has a box under his bed, and it's filled with the loves of his life.





	a museum of broken hearts

**Author's Note:**

> based on this article: https://www.buzzfeed.com/ariannarebolini/museum-of-broken-relationships-break-heart?utm_term=.biedZOqKJ#.qwwVeGBjR

The first thing in Alexander's box was a cracked perfume bottle. The rosy glass was splintered by fingers of gray, chipped at the top, the frosted stopper looking worse for the wear.

A tiny bottle, long empty and long scentless, was all he had left of his mother besides the memories he treasured.

Alex had forgotten the exact color of her hair, the shade of lipstick she wore when she went out, and the sound of her voice, but he had her perfume bottle. His mother had been dead for many years, but the bottle had survived the hurricane and the string of storms that followed.

He kept it wrapped carefully in tissue paper inside the fireproof box under his bed.

 

Alexander also kept the cork from the bottle of champagne he and John shared the night they met. They'd escaped the smokey bar and neon lights for John's dorm room and the forest green bottle he'd taken from his father's liquor cabinet months before.

"I've been waiting to drink this until I found the right person to share it with," he'd announced with satisfaction, brandishing the Krug and sauntering over to the couch. John practically glowed in the starlight from his window.

"And I'm that person?" Alexander had popped the cork and brought it to his lips, swirling the bottle artfully.

"You're right enough."

And they drank the night away, spilling their hearts and souls there on the couch.

By the time the bottle was empty, Alexander was in love.

John gave him the cork, pressing it firmly into his palm with a look in his eyes that made Alexander feel nearly sober. Said he usually kept them. Said he wanted Alex to have it. Alex hadn't laughed then and he didn't laugh now.

John Laurens had been a man of the heart. He had no taste for the material things, contrary to his upbringing and his lover. When he died- all valor and blood and smiles in his last breaths- he left little behind. It went to his family.

So Alexander had the cork and their text conversations and the pictures he taped to the wall above his bed. He had freckles engraved in his dreams and amber eyes in his heart.

Alexander knew that John would've been the man he married, had it not been for John's suicidal bravery.

He still stayed far away from dark alleys.

 

Angelica and Alexander could've had it all. They could've sailed the seas and ruled the world.

But they didn't.

Alex kept Angelica in the pink hair tie. He couldn't let her go.

 

Eliza had been his dove, his grace, and he kept her memory in the locket.

It had been heavy against his chest when she threw it. The poem inside had seemed worthless and fragile next to the love Eliza gave him.

So now it rested at the bottom of his box, cracked across the front and unable to close. He supposed he deserved her anger and the divorce papers on his desk, because he kept the empty tube of crimson lipstick in the box as well.

 

As much as he tried, he couldn't forget Maria.

 

A haphazard birthday card in yellow crayon reminded him of Philip- dead now too.

 

He kept the memory of Eliza's soft lips and open heart filed away in his mind for the days he couldn't stop the fire inside. He kept the feeling of skin on skin and full hips and chocolate curls for the lonely nights. He kept the bright eyes and happy bounce there for all the times in between.

Alexander Hamilton was built on love, lost and broken, but still love. His box was full of it- a perfume bottle, a cork, a pink hair tie, a broken locket, empty red lipstick, a birthday card. A messy-but-heartfelt bisexual pin from Lafayette, a swatch of deep green fabric from Herc, an ink-stained business card from Aaron.

Alex sat on the fire escape with a cup of coffee and watched the sun come up. He watched the busy streets below and wondered if they knew.

He hadn't tasted love until he lost it.

**Author's Note:**

> that article made me cry, and since the hamiltrashcan doesn't have enough angst, I wrote this thing on the school bus.


End file.
